Jigsaw
by YourFairyGodfather
Summary: "If he's knocked up with your improbably-Asian looking love child, I'm renting you out to every nightclub in Vegas." In which Santana is the anti-hero, Brittany's logic is somewhat flawed, Klaine is so on, and the Warblers really don't get public school.


Happy Monday, Gleeks! It's been exactly one year since I started up here at FF. net, and to celebrate, I wanted to write something particularly awesome. However, I couldn't decide what that ought to be, so instead, I put together a collection: drabbles that didn't quite develop into full length pieces, and outtakes that didn't make it into the final versions. Each snippet has either the episode or story it's from underneath the title, to keep things organized.

People who follow me on tumblr (http:/ yourfairygodfather. tumblr. com/) have already seen _Puking Rainbows I and II_—that's where I'll be posting the majority of my non-full length stories from now on, so come over and say hi!

Thank you all for a wonderful year :D

No ownership, as usual. I hear it's a paper anniversary.

* * *

><p><strong>Puking Rainbows, Part I<strong>

"_Born This Way" 2x18:_

Santana Lopez was a lot of things.

Bitchy. Sexy. Devious. Kinda Sapphic.

Also, waiting outside the coffee shop she had just exited, counting down the seconds on her watch.

_3…2…1._

She stretched out her hand expectantly.

The door burst open. "Wait, Santana! You forgot your—"

Blaine Anderson paused, realizing that the girl he had been chasing after was, in fact, standing directly in front of him.

"…phone."

Santana smirked at his obvious confusion and plucked the phone from his hand. "Nice timing, Prep School," she commented. "That'll be a useful skill when you and Twinkie start getting your Gay on for reals."

Blaine raised an eyebrow. "Not that it's any of your business," he asked politely, leaning back against the building, "but what makes you think we haven't?"

Santana waved her hand dismissively. "Please, this is me; I can sniff out The Dirty like a police dog on a crack raid. You are so not having it."

Blaine didn't fight it. In fact, he kind of looked like he was trying not to smile.

Santana smiled back. Yeah, she sort of didn't hate him.

"So," she began. "You talk a pretty good game. But it's just us now, and I'm pretty much a human bullshit detector. Start talking, Tom."

Blaine looked confused. "Cruise?" she clarified. He didn't look any more enlightened. "Oh please, you're short and you jump on furniture," she scoffed, "you can't tell me nobody's ever called you that before. Besides," she added, "your hands are weirdly little, and your girlishly pretty Sig O is in there letting you tell him what to do with his life. If I find out he's knocked up with your improbably-Asian looking love child, I'm renting you out to every nightclub in Vegas."

Wisely choosing to ignore the tangent that ended in human trafficking, Blaine frowned. "I'm not telling Kurt what to do," he insisted, "and I meant everything I said. I want him to be happy. But I also want him to be safe, that's the most important thing to me. If he's not safe at McKinley—"

"Ok," Santana interrupted. "That's touching. Like, I'm gonna vom up rainbows if you keep going." She took a second to inspect her nails. "Ok," she continued, "this is what I want to know, and you're going to tell me. Hypothetical situation: something happens to take care of Karofsky, and suddenly it's safe for Kurt to come back to school. Are you actually 'all for' Kurt leaving Flamer Hogwarts, or are you just saying that because it makes you the good guy and gets you one step closer to peeling off his ridiculously tight pants and getting your perv on?"

Seriously, if he kept raising his eyebrow like that, it was going to stick that way. And given its general size and shape, it would not be pretty. "Hey, I'm not judging you if you are," she assured him. "People say shit they don't mean all the time to get what they want. When I was a kid, I got free ice cream at Friendly's for three years because I told the manager that I had Chronic Lyme Disease."

Blaine stared. "You're a real humanitarian," he told her dryly.

She shrugged. "I'll own it," she agreed. "I'm also the most capable social manipulator this town has. But before I waste my time arranging the universe to my liking, I want to make sure you're worth the effort. Because when Kurt's happy, he pays for my coffee. If he comes back to McKinley and you flake out and break his heart, that's like $20 a week out of my Breadsticks budget. And frankly, I'm even bitchier than usual without my bi-weekly dose of garlic-y goodness."

She looked at him expectantly. "So. Truth, straight up. Go."

Blaine stood there silently for so long that Santana wasn't sure he was going to answer. Finally, he looked down and sighed. "When Kurt came to Dalton, he needed to be there," he explained. "But we both know that this is where he belongs. If he came back…"

He paused, tugging uselessly at his tie. "I'd want him to stay," he admitted. "But more than I want him at Dalton, I want him to be happy. If that means ridiculous phone bills and having to fill up the gas tank every other day, then that's what I'll do. I'm in this, whether we're in the same school or not."

He looked at Santana. "There's a trash can over there," he offered. "If you still need to puke rainbows."

Santana smiled, dazzling and genuine, as she stretched lazily. "Nah," she dismissed. "Close call, but I'm good." She checked her watch. "I'm also out."

Blaine smirked knowingly. "Gotta gay?" he asked impishly.

Santana leveled him with her famous withering glare. "Keep sassing me, Frodo," she taunted. "I'll eat your firstborn child. With so much barbeque sauce."

When Santana drove out of the parking lot three minutes later, Blaine was still rooted to the spot.

She was careful to keep the smile off her face until she had turned the corner.

* * *

><p><strong>Baby Penguin<strong>

"_Sexy" 2x15:_

"_Hello?"_

"All right, white boy. Start talking."

"_Mercedes?"_

"You heard me. What the hell did you people do to Kurt?"

"_What are you—I thought you and Kurt were having a movie night tonight."_

"We were."

"_What happened? Is he okay?"_

"See, that's the thing: he was fine the last time I saw him. Then he goes off to your crazy-uptight school for the week and comes back a gibbering mess. Now I like you, because I know you watch out for him, but you had better start explaining why one minute we're watching Happy Feet, and the next minute my boy's locked himself in the bathroom, whimpering and claiming he's going to die alone."

* * *

><p><strong>Public School is a Whole New Experience<strong>

"_Born This Way" 2x18:_

Climbing on the bus heading back to Dalton Academy, David had fully expected Blaine to be a little sad, or tired, or maybe even somewhat moody. All the Warblers were sad to be losing Kurt, but even though Blaine had put on a brave face during his speech, everyone knew he was taking the loss hardest of all. Several of the boys had brainstormed behind his back, thinking of ways to boost their lead singer's spirits in the days to come. Wes had even planned ahead and filed paperwork with the Student Club Accounting Board, arranging the release of non-earmarked Warbler funding so that the group could make a Wendy's run on the way home from McKinley.

There was something almost pathetically adorable about the undiminished joy on Blaine's face whenever they announced a drive-thru run.

At the moment, though, David wasn't sure an extra-large order of fries was going to cut it: Blaine was slumped dejectedly in his seat, staring out the window with tear streaks still visible under his eyes. David exchanged a quick glance with Wes, who nodded. The two of them nonchalantly made their way back to where Blaine was sitting and joined him, David sharing his seat and Wes peering sympathetically over the seat back in front of them.

Blaine gave them a gloomy smile in acknowledgment. "He looked happy, I thought," he said hollowly. "Do you think he looked happy?"

David clapped his shoulder. "He did. His friends are going to take better care of him this time, and the two of you are going to continue to make the rest of us look bad with your over the top displays of true love."

Wes nodded. "He'll visit all the time, and you'll continue to spend half your life in Lima. Plus, we certainly have enough conference days; I'm sure we can arrange another trip back." He glanced back at the school thoughtfully as the bus pulled out of the parking lot. "I must say, it was a nice change, having musical backing for a performance, even an informal one," he mused. "We should look into that in the future."

David smiled; that had been a pleasant surprise. "Yeah, that was nice of those guys to back us up. Are they friends of Kurt's?"

Blaine shrugged listlessly. "I don't know. I'm not sure who they were." Wes frowned slightly; probably worried about how out of character it was for Blaine to not know the names of people who had gone out of their way to help him. He really was in a funk—normal Dapper Blaine would have sent thank you notes and a fruit basket, or something equally ridiculous.

"Mercedes must have arranged it," David rationalized for Wes's benefit. "That's pretty impressive, seeing as we only settled on a song yesterday. Speaking of which, how did they arrange to get a piano out there? What if it had rained today?"

"Blaine," Wes interrupted before Blaine could even answer, "when _did _you tell Mercedes what song we were doing? I thought your phone died before practice yesterday, and that's why you had to borrow mine to text Jeff about the history test?"

Blaine was still staring out the window, clearly not fully invested in the conversation. "I never told her, I wanted it to be a surprise," he answered calmly, "and I don't know about the piano. It wasn't there the last time Kurt and I were out there."

David and Wes exchanged uneasy glances. "Blaine," David said gently. "You're saying that a group of musicians—violinists, guitarists, a _drummer_—somehow, without knowing what key, arrangement, _or song that we were singing_—" he cut himself off, collecting his thoughts. "They just knew what we were doing, had their instruments, and jumped right in? And a piano just magically appeared, despite the fact that everyone in New Directions knows we're an a capella choir and wouldn't need a piano?"

Blaine shrugged. "I guess," he said noncommittally.

Wes was clearly struggling to keep his composure. "Blaine," said slowly, "you do recognize that…that isn't normal, right? That pianos tend to be indoors, as do drum sets, and musicians generally have to practice, or at the very least know what they're playing, in order to provide accompaniment?"

Blaine looked exhausted. "Guys, could we…just not? I know you're trying to distract me, and I really appreciate it, but I kind of just want to be upset for a little bit. I'll get over it before practice today, I promise."

Completely ignoring David and Wes's incredulous expressions, Blaine smiled sadly. "Can we still go to the drive-thru though?" he asked hopefully. "Thad mentioned french fries."

* * *

><p><strong>Good With Children<strong>

_Flushed and Disoriented (Season 2):_

Blaine quickly finished the slice of cake he was eating and started gently sliding the other pieces back into the pan. "Will they mind that we're bringing in our own dessert?" he asked curiously, and Kurt shrugged. "Not if we have Santana," he answered. "They're a little afraid of her there."

"Besides," he added, "if they don't let us bring it in, we'll take it home and you can eat it." He reached up, wiping a smudge of frosting off of Blaine's mouth.

Blaine caught Kurt's hand and kissed his fingers. "You don't want to share?" he asked, raising an eyebrow suggestively. Kurt smiled, shaking his head.

"Straight to my hips," he reminded Blaine. Then kissed him, hard.

"Your face," he said with a teasing smile, "tastes awesome."

Blaine practically growled as he ripped the party hat off of Kurt's head, dug his fingers into that soft, gorgeous hair, and kissed his boyfriend for all he was worth. Kurt was smiling into his mouth and gripping his hips, and everything tasted like chocolate and Kurt and yeah, maybe Britt was in the other room but whatever, if she came back they'd just say Blaine had had an allergic reaction and Kurt was performing CPR and _God, he loved this boy_, and—

_Quack._

Blaine pulled away and looked down. Cracker was sitting on his foot again, looking up at the two of them with disapproval.

"Cracker," Kurt said sternly, giving the duck a serious look, "Daddy's busy making out with Uncle Blaine right now. Did you need me specifically, or do you just want somebody to pay attention to you?" Cracker quacked again. Kurt nodded knowingly and grabbed a slice of bread from the loaf on the counter. "Go see Mommy," he instructed, holding the treat out to Cracker.

The duck grabbed the slice with his bill before waddling out of the kitchen. Blaine stared in amazement.

His adorable, sexy boyfriend was the Duck Whisperer.

This town was so weird.

* * *

><p><strong>Logic Has No Place Here<strong>

_Shotgun Wedding (Season One):_

Quinn checked her phone. 8am—normally way too early to get up on a vacation, but the baby was making her have to pee, like, every ten seconds. Plus, she could smell coffee.

When she made it down the stairs ten minutes later, however, Tina wasn't there. Instead, Artie Abrams was pulled up to the kitchen table, pouring three mugs of decaf. His hair was slightly tousled, and he was wearing track pants and a t-shirt—a casual look that totally would have worked for him if he hadn't marred it by also wearing a thin pair of black suspenders.

"Morning," he greeted her, holding out a coffee mug. "Your friend is insane."

Quinn took the coffee. "Non-sequitur much?" she asked causally, stirring in a couple teaspoons of sugar. She took a grateful sip.

That decided it—she was moving to Columbia immediately.

"Brittany was here a few minutes ago," Artie clarified, sipping his own coffee. "She doesn't have anyone to run with since Santana's out of town, so she wanted to know if you would go with her."

Quinn stared. "I'm eight months pregnant," she said, stating the obvious.

Artie looked back evenly. "Yeah. She brought a baby jogger."

Quinn's jaw dropped.

Artie nodded. "She invited me too. I'm already in running clothes, she said."

* * *

><p><strong>Puking Rainbows, Part II<strong>

"_Born This Way" 2x18:_

"I'm not sure if I ought to thank you, or shave your eyebrows off while you're sleeping."

Santana continued to lace up her boot, not bothering to look up. She knew that voice anywhere, and the nearly-empty hallway of McKinley was as good a place as any for the conversation she'd been expecting for days now. "Try it, gender-bender," she challenged. "I sleep with one eye open."

Kurt leaned casually against the lockers, adopting a stance that showed off his legs in his absurdly tight pants. It was deliberate, she knew—she did it all the time. "Wise choice," he commented. "Incidentally, so does my boyfriend, these days. I think you broke him."

Santana scoffed. "What, is he seven?" she asked incredulously. "All I did was make sure he wasn't going to weasel out if I nailed Public Enemy Number One to the wall."

Kurt blanched. "…please tell me that was a horribly worded metaphor," he demanded weakly.

Santana rolled her eyes. If he puked on her shoes, she was going to be pissed. Also? She despaired of their sex life if both of them really had such hair-trigger gag reflexes.

"I was referring to the fact that I enjoy stuffing and mounting the heads of my enemies over the fireplace like endangered wildlife," she said neutrally.

Kurt nodded. "That would explain a great deal," he conceded, looking weirdly less shaken by that scenario. "For what it's worth," he continued, "I appreciate you telling Blaine to let me make my own choices. He's sweet and he really cares, and I was starting to feel guilty for reiterating the point."

"Yeah, see, I never actually said that," Santana said faux-sweetly, making Kurt look down at her in surprise. "You dressed up as Ethyl Merman for Halloween," she pointed out, "you don't get to make decisions on your own anymore. All I said was that anyone who uses that much hair gel doesn't have the moral capital to tell anyone else what to do."

Kurt nodded slowly, clearly waiting for the punchline. Santana didn't disappoint.

"And I may have threatened to eat his firstborn."

God, he looked weirdly like Ms. Pillsbury when his eyes went big like that. "Would that be why, when we went to the grocery store, he spent five minutes staring at home pregnancy tests and refused to go in the condiment aisle?" he asked delicately.

Santana shrugged. "Your boy-toy, you figure his overly-styled head out," she griped.

Kurt shrugged back. "Whatever. I got a ten pound bag of imported coffee beans and a verbosely written letter of apology."

"On monogrammed stationary," he added, when Santana stared at him incredulously.

"Are you shitting me?" she whined. "I do all the work to turn Karofsky's ass around, and you manage to spin it into free coffee?"

"Don't even, Sofia Vergara," Kurt stopped her, throwing up a hand. "I've seen you spin a broken spaghetti strap on your tank top into a free Prada shirt."

Santana smiled. "That was good, wasn't it." Kurt nodded emphatically.

They were silent for a minute. Santana stood up and leaned against the locker next to him.

"Thank you," Kurt said suddenly.

Santana nodded, not looking at him. "It's cool."

He nodded back. "See you onstage?"

"Not in the mood," Santana admitted. "I'll be in the audience." She pulled gently at the hem of her t-shirt.

Kurt gestured to it. "What does it say?" he asked. Santana opened her jacket and turned slightly.

_LEBANESE_

Kurt reached out. "Since when?" he asked casually, smoothing out the wrinkles Santana had caused before folding the lapels of her jacket back down.

"Brittany can't spell."

If Kurt was surprised, he didn't show it. "Ah," he responded evasively.


End file.
